m7 






iiSSiiiiWil^ 






fiNAHEL fiNDREWS. 



. /f3^fs- 



Capyright IBBB by 

GEO, E. HfiGLEY, 

Nashua, N. H, 



^ontents. 



Frost Flowers. 
Apple Blooms. 
A White Lily. 
Baby May. 
Wild Asters. 



Golden Rod. 
Mignonette. 
When the I^aisies BlooiM A(;ain. 

Sunset. 
At Rest. 



TO MY HUSBAND: 

The best and truest friend I ever had. 
I dedieiite with love this little posey : composed of the simple 
tlowers he likes best. 

The Author. 



jl|[nost 1| 



rlOLDOPS. 



i-^liP '^^If^^^l^^^US I'attlino; of the grate, and a few disconneot- 

fW^i ed words uttered in an eqnallv visiorous tone of voice. 

"^""i^ floated up through the open register to Daphne's ears as 

she finished dressing, her teetli fairly chattering with the cold. 

'•'I declare I never Ivnew it to be so cold in this room ! Dear 
me, the water is frozen too ; tlie cold wave has struck us at last, 
surely. Now what in the world is the reascju Ton) is smashing 
things 'round so, down stairs?" 

A patter of feet down the stair-way. then the door swung 
to and Daphne spi'ead her little blue lingers out toward the 
stove : wondei'ing why it should he so cold, and why there 
should be such a litter of shavings and kindlings, when Tom 
came in and tossed some more wood into tlie stove, slannning 
the dooi- with a force which sent a whiff of ashes afloat in every 
direction. 

''It is just awful cold, Tom I" 

''Oh, is it? Well now, I'm ever so much obliged foi' tli" in- 
formation : how long since you made that interesting discovery?" 

"I wish you wouldn't make so much litter; it really doesn't 
seem to me that there's any need of it." 

"Course there isn't I If you came down and found the fire 
all out and everything frozen solid, you'd pick out a shaviug 



and a, half, and, after having carefully arranged them, you 
would pile on the kindling with equal care, I suppose," and an- 
other stick went in with a slam. 

"1 wouldn't talk as you did ; I heard a word or two now :uid 
then and I know you didn't talk very proi)erly. liesides I 
should think you'd be ashamed to he so cross just Viecause the 
tire went out ; you couldhave stayed in the kitchen while this tire 
was starting," and with a most superior and dignified look 
Daphne opened the door and passed out. 

The kitchen she found U) be n few degrees colder than the 
sitting-room, so came back. Tom looked up :ind inciuiied if 
the temperatiu'e was so tcjrrid she couldn't bear it, and iKJvered 
a little closer over the stove. 

''How did it happen that both these tires shouhl go out, and 
such a coltl night too? I don't believe yon took care of tliem 
[)roperly when you came home last night." 

"Course Ididn't. I never do auythiug properly. Say Daphne, 
did yon know I was to blame for the Hood?" 

But Daphne deigned no I'eply. ami at once began her pre- 
parations for breakfast, while neithei- spoke Mgain until the meal 
was ready. Daphne sat straight and stitf and poured coffee, 
while Tom sat straight and stiff' opposite ; each using the utmost 
politeness in speaking when it was absolutely necessary. 

When it was time for Tom to go to the stoi'e he even button- 
ed his overcoat before saying anything, and Daphne's poor fool- 
ish heart sank neai'ly into the tiim little !)Oots which Tom had 
brought home only the day before ; but she made no sign and 
kept on clearing away the breakfast dishes as though thtie wiis 
nothing else in the world which occu[)ied her mind at that pre- 
cise moment. Tom took his cap from its i)eg and stood irreso- 
lute an instant, then the pietty monogram inside — the work of 
Daphne's dainty fingers — caught his eye, and tucking the cap 
under his arm he called, "Daphne !" 



''Yes sir," and she stood deiinirely, just in the door-way, 
•'Did yoii want anything?" 

'sStuffy little ininx, she deserves a shaking!" thought Tom ; 

l)ut the pink eheeks and dewy eyes eaused liis heart to relent 

and he said : "■Only to have you look at these l)eautiful frost- 
tlowers here on the window." 

Well enough she knew that was only a ruse to lure her over 
to the window, where he would kiss h"r and "■make u^) :" but 
she wanted him t(j say tiist that he was sorry for havirig teasetl 
her; so she answei^ed iu a very dignified manner: ••! havn'tthe 
time now, thank you ; ami. judging from the temperature of 
this room, I can look at tiiem at my leisure durinu' the day." 

'•Yes; you will have to thaw out cousiderahly liefoie any tire 
will make an impression where you are. I never knew hefoi-e 
how mueh your disposition de|)ended for its sweetness on — '" 
l)ut Dai)hne was gone. Tom waited a few minutes, half hop- 
ing she would return, then elai)ping on his cap he started toward 
the door. 

Daphne, anxious for a reeonciliation, had reaehed there tirst 
by going another way. and was now giving hei- whole time and 
attention to rolling up the hall mat i)ri'paratory to siiaking it — 
a thing which Tom never allowed her t() do, by the way. lie 
shook the mat, laid it at her feet and, lifting his cap. bowed i:i 
his most killing manner, said -"(iood morning" and was gone. 
Then Daphne locked the door, seated herself in a miserable 
heap on the rug in front of the now glowing tire, and cried, nn- 
till her eyeli<ls were swollen and smaiting. Then, as a siiov^er in 
summer clears the air and makes the returning sunshine even 
brighter, so her tears washed away her vexation, and, rising, 
she said : •■() dear I I was a little dunce. Itut I'll go this in- 
stant and make a lemon ci'eam for dinner and say I'm sorry ; 
but to think he should go away with such a cool goodbye !" and 
the tears broke forth afresh. 



Just as everything was done for the day and ail preparations 

made for the seven o'cloclv dinner — when Tom would come and 

all things be peaceful once more — a ring at tlie door called 

Daphne from her musings. She found a small boy, who handed 

her a note, and saying there was no, reply, took himself, his 

veiy small hat, and his very large trousers out of the way. 

The note was from Tom, and thus it ran : 

Mrs. T. H. Tannaut : 

Dear madam — 1 am unexpectedly called ro 11 

on business for the tirm, and shall begone to-night. Doubtless 
vou will be able to manage the fires more to your satisfaction, 
and will be glad of the opportunity. 

Very respectfully, 

T. H. Tannant. 

"The idea, when he knows how 1 hate to touch a fire ! I'll 
just go right straight home to mother, and there I'll stay till he 
says he is sorry." 

An hour later a very resolute looking little lady took a seat 

in the cars for D ; and this is the note Tom found awaiting 

him on his return next night. 

T. H. Tannant : 

Sir — Doubtless I might be able to manage 

the fires beautifully ; but not caring to do so 1 have gone to 

mother's where I shall be warm, comfortable and well treated. 

Hoping that you may have an opportunity of enjoying all the 

fi'ost flowers you core to, 

I am, very respectfully, 

nai)hne Tannant. 

To find a note like this in a cold house, when the mercury in 
the thermometer was hunting the bulb, was not calculated to 
make a man feel very pleasantly I must admit. Tom had come 
home penitent : eager for a chance to make his peace, and 
stowed away in his pocket was a little peace-offering that Daph- 
ne had mentioned as so beautiful in Silvern »& Go's window a 
few days before ; now, however, he was angry. He tossed the 
note down, exclaiming : "Well, if you wait for me to come after 
you, you will wait quite a little season !" and fell to work at the 
fires. 



While he was rattling and smashing round everything went 
pretty well ; liiit after the fires were all running finely, his coffee 
made and di.s[)osed of, together with the very lemon cream into 
which Daphne had mixed so many pleasant and unpleasant 
thoughts that it is a wonder it didn't give him his death of indi- 
gestion — his cigar lighted, himself comfortaWy composed in his 
easy chair, he missed something. Daphne's kitten mewed and 
riil)hed Mgainsl his legs, am' the dog kept running to the foot 
of the stairs, barking excitedly and running back again. He 
fed them, but still they refused to be comforted ; so finally he 
made Cud. lie a l)eil of Daphne'.s shawl, into which she at once 
nestled contentedly, and gave Si)ider a slipper, then everything 
was quiet. How still it was ! What made it so still? Some- 
how Tom didn't like it. 

Into the stillness troublesome thoughts began to inti'ude ; 
thoughts of the busy hands always so ready to do anything for 
his comfort or pleasure ; the sweet, clear voice which chattered 
so pleasantly always ; the little snatches of song; the swish 
of feminine draperies. -"Heigh ho ! 1 was downright mean to 
the dear little thing I At home she was waited on and idol- 
ized — guess she never knew what it was in her life to come 
down and prepare breakfast till she married me. Spent a 
whole year learning about housework so we shouldn't be obliged 
to keej) a girl — then'. Tom 'I'annant. you ought to b;^' kicked to 
death by (•ri[)ples I if 1 live till to-morrow I'll go after her !" 

Unt you know, my reader, that in this little world occasionally 
affairs have l)een known to turn out very differently from what 
the parties most interested would have wished ; and although 
Tom survived till the next day, he did not go after Daphne, 
because inunediately on reaching the store he was informed of 
the illness of the senior partner, so, of coui'se, he could not be 
spared. Leaving Tom to fret and worry out the day inside, 
while outwardly he was as sereue as a May morning, we will 
go where he would like to go — to visit Daphne. When that 



youDg lady presented herself befoi-e her mother and annonneed 
that she had come home for a visit, Mrs. Deering at once 
mistrusted the reason ; but being gifted with unusual prudence, 
she said nothing, and waited developments. 

Toward night Dai)hne began to grow I'estless ; would start 
nervously at the sound of the bell, and at last, pleading fatigue, 
went to her own room. Next morning she came down 
early, and in her old seat by a south window began diligently 
to work at a small painting. As it grew rapidly under her 
fingers the family all exclaimed : ^'How queer! How did yon 
happen to think of that?" Beside a win<low covered with 
flowers and ferns traced by the delicate fingers of the frost, a 
woman sat with head bent low on her hands ; her face was 
concealed from view ; but sorrow was expressed in every line 
and curve of the figure which was Dai)hne's own. She only 
said: ''It is an idea I happened to have, and I want to get it 
on canvas as soon as possible while I nm here; the details I 
can put in at my leisure." The second day she finished what 
she intended to do, and placed it to dry ; her mother watched her 
face anxiously awhile, then said : "Do yon remember once, 
Daphne, when you were a wee girl, of disputing with your 
playmate, Amy? I said: 'Why, Daphne, yon mus'n't do so — 
it is wrong to quarrel with Amy.' Yon turned your head one 
side and said : 'But I didn't qiiarl with her, she (jaarled with 
me !' You always fancied Amy did the 'quarling.' " Daphne 
came swiftly to her mother's side, and saying "How did you 
know ; what shall I do?" hid her face on her mother's lap. 

"Send him the picture, as you intended ; it will bear varnish- 
ing by night, and you can retouch it at your leisure." 

Then followed some words of motherly counsel and loving 
warning : to all of which a most subdued little Daphne listened. 

Just after she had placed the painting carefully in its box 
and tied the last string, she went to prepare for a walk to the 
express office, for she would trust it to no hand save her own. 



She heard her mother's voice as she ran down the stairs, and 
that worthy lady came to meet lier, saying : "You must remove 
your cloak and bonnet, for you have a caller waiting for you." 

"O dear ! I didn't mean a soul should know I was at home !" 
she exclaimed impatiently, tossing her wraps on the hall table 
and walking into the parlor, to see 1)y the south window the 
bronze-brown curls and moustache of her own Tom. 

Hesitating in the centre of the room, she was met by that 
young man, who picked her up bodily, carried lier to the Sleepy 
Hollow, where he enthroned her on his knee, and addressed her 
us follows : 

"I was a brute and a fool to treat you so, Uaffy-dowu-dilly, 
though you were pretty spiteful. However, that's no excuse 
for me, since you are the weaker vessel, and I should have set you 
a better example, which, if you will come home, I will at once 
proceed to do. Spider and Cuddle are extremely lonely Avith- 
out you, and I am unable to take my usual comfort in the even- 
ing because they tease me so. Will you come?" 

And, like all the rest, she "clasped her hapi)y hand in liis nud 
went content." Did he ever see the painting? I am surpi-ised ! 
Of course she at once took measures to hide it, and congratulated 
herself on the fact that he needn't know anything about thut. 
Equally of course, next evening, in the sanctity of their own 
home — after the delicious dinner to which poor, starved Tom, 
Spider and Cuddle did ample justice — she at once produced the 
picture, told its destination, and was loved and petted to her 
heart's content by the i-epentant Tom. 



^pple ||loom5. 



jHE fragrant flakes are falling, May : 
^1^^ I wait your coining here 

Beside this mossy, gnarled old seat. 
With daisies nestling at its feet — 
Why do yon linger, dear? 



Ah, me! Whene'er the apples bloom 

I miss your presence, May ; 
I cannot think you gone, my own, — 
Lo I am waiting here alone, 
While you in Heaven stay ! 

Ten times the apple-trees ha\e borne 

A perfumed wealth of snow, 

Since, darling, you lay down to rest, 

With apple-blossoms on your breast. 

And o'er your grave so low ! 

And yet I always wait you here, 

In our old trysting place ; 
Half hoping, love, that I shall see 
Smiling from out the blooms at me 
Your own sweet, happy face. 



4 W^^^ t^'H- 



A long, old-fashioned kitchen, and by one of the windows a 
woaian stood ironing. A hasty glance at the clock, and the 
iron flew swifter than before. Out doors the great elm at the 
em] of the house cast long, cooling shadows on the grass, and 
the weary woman at the table sighed as she looked out from her 
work. A light footfall at the door, and theu a child's eager 
voice crying : 

'<), mama ! the white 'ily is all b'ossomed ! tan I have it to 
put in my hat?" The tired mother's answer was quicker, and 
sharper than she knew, as she exclaimed : 

''No! no! Minnie mustn't dare to touch the lily ! There are 
lots of wild ones by the lower fence which I'll get you sometime. 
Run away and play now, and don't come in again to trouble 
mama. Dear, dear, child, how dirty your hands and apron 

are ! ' ' 

The little face clouded over, and the little feet crept slowly 
oui over the doorstep, and then toddled along to the lovely 
white lily. Three beautiful white blossoms, and as many buds 
bent gracefully from the slender stalks,— how the blue eyes 
looked at them, and how the bal)y fingers longed to hold them ! 
''1 does want a f'ower for my hat detfully, and I wants it now ; 
1 tan't wait till 'sometime,' " murmured the baby. 



The moments sped away, until, in the kitchen, the ironing 
hung speckless and spotless on the bars ; the table was laid for 
dinner, and the mother rang the bell, then went out under the 
elm to rest a moment and wait for Minnie. The men came up 
from the field tired and heated and Mrs. Evans went in to wait 
upon them. 

"Where is Minnie?" questioned the father. 

"Out doors," she answered, calling from the door, "Minnie ! 
Minnie !" 

After waiting a few minutes she said uneasily : 

"it's very strange she doesn't come," and went out followed 
by her husband, calling "Minnie !" No eager voice answered 
"'Es, I is a tumin' ;" and they went on to the orchard, expect- 
ing to find the little maiden asleep under a tree. As they passed 
the white lily, a sudden thought smote the mother, and with 
white, set face she ran toward the lower fence, the father fol- 
lowing. When they reached the brook, a tiny slioe lay on the 
bridge ; iwinting to it she gasped : "The lilies — by the pool — 
Arthur!" 

Comprehending, he dashed along the mossy path as it wound 
among the alders, until he reached the pool. A little hat, with 
gorgeous lilies stuck among its blue rib))ons, lay there; just 
beyond, the mossy bank had newly caved away, and underneath, 
with hands tightly clasping a brilliant cardinal floweV, lay little 
Minnie. The tiny hands were clean now, the wilful golden 
curls were washed away from the sweet blue-veined brow, and 
the lips wore still the smile that had wreathed them wlieu she 
spied the flowers. 

******* 

Very fair and sweet the waxen image looked in the white 
casket, among its satin cushions. In the tiny hands bloomed 



a royal lily, and a brilliant cardinal pink. Over the casket were 
strewn the flowers she loved best, until it was nearly hidden 
from sight ; but the broken hearted mother knew nothing of all 
this ; she lay quietly in a darkened room, saying only to those 
who spoke to her : "It was so much to pay for a lily !" 




Ph $ 



ay. 



|pi| AM sitting by your grave, baby May; 
The golden rod is blooming royally, 
The very stalks that always pleased you ;■ 
And, as the breeze flits to and fro, 

Above your bed tliey wave, bal)y May ! 

Nodding purple asters, baby May, 
Bend low their tassels to the harebell's head. 
Whose blue is like your bonny eyes, my pet; 
Daisies whose golden eyes are wet — 
Methinks they weep for you, baby May. 

r have lain you here to rest, baby May, 
While I worK out Life's busy, weary day ; 
AjkI when the night shall kindly come at last. 
When shadows cluster thick and fast, 
I then shall sleep beside you, ba])y May. 

Till then sleep sweet, ray own dear baby May, 
The perfumed breeze will sing your lullaby ; 
At sunset birds vyrin sing your evening hymn. 
And when the light grows faint, and dim. 
Your mother's thoughts are here, baby May. 



f ild 4 



skns. 



MT was fi very charming little shopping bag, and Sadie had 

^ wanted such an one for a long time. When she discov- 

'ivr ei-ed it on lier dressing-table her birthday morning, it 
pleased her more than all her otiier pj-esents combined, though 
some were far more valnable. 

Later in the day she said to her mother : 

"Now mother, you know — and if you don't, I do — that the 
very first time 1 carry this bag I'll leave it somewhere, as sure 
as sin." 

"Yes; but, Sadie, you're old enough to be more careful." 

^■■Very true, mother, but then I'm not ; and never shall be, I 
very much fear." 

"Perhaps if you lose this it will be a lesson you will remem- 
ber." 

"But I don't intend to lose it, even if I do leave it ; for I 
mean to have my full address engraved on this silver plate 
instead of simply initials." 

She had it engraved that afternoon, and displaying it in 
triumph, said : 

"There mother : see that! Now 'he who runs may read:' 



'Nadie M. Farnham, Pleasantville, Maine.' " 

"Yes, perhaps somebody will read it whom you won't wish 
to," responded the mother sagely. 

''O 1 shall keep that side toward me when I carry it." 

The last of September she went to visit her most intimate 
friend, Laura McQuesteu, lately married, and living in Ohio. 
Lauia's former home had been in tSadie's own village ; and 
knowing her fondness for the wild purple asters which bordered 
all their road-sides, nestling beside the golden-rod, .Sadie gath- 
ered a large bunch of them to cany to her friend, with but one 
gorgeous spray of golden-rod in their midst. Her brother Harry 
found a pleasant seat for her in the car, and handing her the 
bag and flowers, he said : "There ! these are almost equal to the 
'big box, little box, bandbox and bundle.' " 

"Now Harry ! you know father says that I'm a finished 
traveler. I never burden myself or anyone else with luggage." 

"Yi.u'll get sitk enough of those flowers before you get 
there ; they'll be all withered, anyway." 

"No, they won't; for I shall put fresh water on the cotton 
every little while." 

"Here are your tickets. Take care of yourself, and don't 
get into any scrapes. Good-bye, little sis ; remember me to 
Laura." 

The car was empty save for a few passengers behind Sadie, 
whose faces she could not see. 

She loved dearly to study faces, herself unobserved, and began 
to wish the car would fill up. It did with a rush at the next 
station, every seat soon being full. Just as she was wondering 
who would occupy the seat with her, a rather elderly lady, with 
a slighty trou1)led expression, entered the car and looked anx- 
iously up and down the rows of seats. She approached Sadie 
somewhattimidly ; but Sadie lifted the flowers from the seat beside 
her and said brightly, "You can sit here if you like, madam." 



The lad}' — tliut she was a hidj was written all over her, though 
evidently unused to travelling alone — thanked .Sadie with a very 
relieved face and sat down beside her. The lady's eyes fell 
upon the flowers at once and lingered there. Sadie, wlio was 
watching her new travelling companion, saw from the half- 
sad, half-tende: smile which curved her lii)S, and the abstract- 
ed, dreamy look on her face, that she was far away fiom her 
present surroundings and busy with memories which the asters 
and golden rod had stirred. 

As she looked up with a half sigh, Sadie said : 

'•'You love flowei's?" 

"O very much! Wild ones particularly. 1 used to trim my 
sun-hat with them, and up by the old school-house on the hill 
my girl-hood's friend and I had a plot of them walled round 
with stones. I hav'n't seen them in years before, my liouje 
having been in the far West." 

"•I am taking these to a friend whose favorite flowers they 
used to be ; but you must please accept half of them." 

The lady thanked her but declined the gift, saying she could 
not rob her of them. "You will not rob her, for I can send her 
a box full," separating the flowers as she spoke. 

The lady's lips quivered, aud her eyes grew moist as she 
gratefully accepted them. She told Sadie that she was on her 
way back to her home in the West, having made a huriied trij) 
to the East to see her son, who had been quite ill, but was now 
convalescent. Her immediate presence was required at home 
aud she was obliged to return alone, the friend with whom she 
had come not returning for some weeks. "•! am so unused to 
travelling alone that I am quite timid," she said, with a depre. 
eating look and smile. 

Sadie did all in her power to make her comfortable as far as 
their ways lay together, and enjoyed her companionship, sint-e 
she was very intelligent aud cultured, as further conversation 



revealed. Wlieii they reached K they parted with real re- 
gret ; Sadie wishing the lady, whose name she did not know, a 
safe and pleasant journey. 

Laura was delighted with the tlowers, which had kept won- 
derfully fresh ; more than delighted to see her friend ; and in 
the happy, busy days which followed, all remembrance of the 
lady with whom she had shared the flowers gradually faded frou) 
Sadie's mind. 

One day there came a letter from home in Harry's handwrit- 
ing which contained the following paragraph : 

"The other day the expressman brougiit a box addressed to 
you. Mother was dying with curiosity to know what was in it. 
Of course, 1 had none, being a man ; I)ut at her solicitation 1 
opened the box. It contained a beautiful panel in oils, <^f 
wild asters, with a si^ray of goldeu-rod. Underneath lay a 
card on one side of which was inscribed : "Geo. L. Cranstonu, 
Boston, Mass.' On the other: 'Will Miss Farnham please ac- 
cept as a slight token of gratitude for the kindness shown by 
her to my mother while travelling.' 

"••I w^rote to Chirlie Livingston, inquiring in a casual way if 
he knew this Cranston. When he replied, he spoke very enthu- 
siastically of him, and asked where 1 had met him. So father 
wrote to young C, acknowledging receipt of l)ox, with thanks 
for contents. 

"Now I should like to know, altho', as you know, I've no 
curiosity, what you've been up to. Wasn't my last charge to 
you a solemn warning not to get into scrapes?" 

Laura said it was most romantic, and quite like a story ; and 
when Sadie left for home declared she knew her departure was 
hastened by a desire to see that panel. 

Sadie had no adventure during the homeward journey, having 
a seat to herself most of the wa}'. The remainder, it was oc- 
cupied by an old gentleman who took snuff and had catarrh ; 



saying '-urn ! um !" in Uie most emphatic manmT after each 
application of his handkerchief. 

The panel was almost the first thing shown Sadie on her ar- 
rival. 

''And iiow did you happen to give your name and address to 
an entire stranger?" chorused the family. 

"Why I didn't " 

"■How did she know" it, theti?" 

Just then Harry's eye happened to fall on the pretty bag with 
its silver plate. In a voice brinnning with mischief he read 
'• 'IMiss Sadie M. Fai'iiham, Pleasantville. Maine,' " and ad- 
ded : "I siii)pose you labelled yourself with that all the way 
didn't yon Sadie, like a package sent by express?" 

"The ideal I kept the plate out of sight all the way; but I 
left it on the seat once when 1 went out to get some lunch." 

"It's wonderful to me" said Harry, ''that you didn't leave it. 
somewhere altogether, that being your usual custom." 

Autumn passed away, and early Winter. With Christmas 
came another package by express to Sadie in care of hei' father. 
The box when oi^ened was found to contain a l)eantiful lace pin. 
the design a spray of asters, fi'om Mrs. Craustonn, Later came 
a veiT charming letter from the lady, begging Sadie's accept- 
ance of the gift. 

By this time all the young readeis are saying, "Why 
doesn't she hurry up and tell when Mi'. C'ranstonn came to see 
Sadie, made love, and was acce})ted?" 

My dear girls, I leave you to imagine that part, and T will 
simply tell you that Mr. C. came up with Charlie Livingstone 
at New Year, and when the asters bloomed again there was a 
quiet wedding in which Sadie Farnham and Geo. Craustonn 
were central figures. 

And the bride wore asters instead of orange-blossoms — how 
odd! 



golden |(od. 



liP^EAll shadowed sunshine, 
Goldeu-crowued and fair : 
By dusty roadside, 
Or in shaded lanes. 
You lift your blossoms everywhere. 
Who does not love your 
Graceful, golden spear? 
Like sunshine shadowed 
By a passing cloud — 
Who would not miss your presence h 

You ask so little, 

And repay so much ! 

Give ever of your 

Best, whate'er your place — 

In life how many lives are such? 

The purple aster 

Follows where you lead. 

Perhaps she knows her 

Dainty dress is just 

The color that your blossoms need. 

To show their beauty 

Clearer. As the gold 

Of stars gleams brighter, 

When across the heav'n 

Dark azure curtains are unrolled. 



||ignonetle. 



J;i|i|i HE thermometer was prancing around in the nineties 
'.^^ and all the air had gone to the mountains or seaside — 
there wasn't a breath left in the city. 
A young clerk in the dead letter department of the postal ser- 
vice sat perched on a high stool before his desk, looking quite 
wilted and limp, and tore open the next envelope in the pile be- 
fore him in a decidedly wilted and limp manner. Glancing at 
thesignature, he read, "•Mignonette." '"Well, that's refresliing 
to-day, but why didn't »he have sense enough to sign her nan)e ?" 
Turning the letter over in order to find some clue — which he 
didn't — he glanced down the tii'st page. When nearly to the 
bottom he stopped, went back and read the letter carefully from 
beginning to end ; then drawing paper toward him cojjied it en- 
tire, and placed the copy in his pocket. Then straightening up, 
went at his pile of letters in a new and brisk fashion. He wrote 
a letter that evening to his only living i-elative, who n);idc her 
home in a little Maine village, and this is what it said : 
''My dear little sister : 

"1 am out of the slough of despond forever, I think. 
I have an idea you will be as rejoiced as I am. 



' ' Will give you a few extracts from tlie lecture which was like 
a pole exteuded by some friendly hand to help me out. 

'' 'Discontent is a good thing. Every great achievement in 
this world lias been the result of somebody's discontent with 
the then present state of affairs ; but there is discontent and dis- 
content. That which spends itself in fruitless wailings against 
surrounding circumstances and half or wholly neglects the work 
it has, is not the kind that ever amounts to anything.' 

''Then further on in the same discourse : 

"■ 'I know your work is notconaenial, and that you have brains 
enough to fill a higher and more responsible position ; but. since 
it doesn't show itself today, wouldn't it be better, while keeping 
a bright out-look for the golden opportunity, to see that every 
duty of your present position is faithfully and cheerfully per- 
formed, than to go through each day half-heartedly? You will 
forgive me, I know, if I say that this is not the way to show 
yourself worthy of i»romotion.' 

^'By this time you will wish to know the lecturer's name ; well. . 
it is .Mignonette— ever hear of her? Shan't tell you anything 
more in regard to it now. 

"I am in my usual health, and when I seat myself at my 
landlady's bouutiful( ?) board. 1 feel thankful for cast-iron di- 
gestive powers if for nothing else. She beats the world on new 
and execrable dishes— a certain pudding in particular. Tom 
Campbell took a mouthful of it yesterday, and then remarked, 
oiving .Mrs. Kutch a most benevolent h)ok, that he was irresist- 
ably reminded of a story. Of course, we all called -story.' and 
he proceeded : 

'^ -A young reporter was sent to a small country town where 
a murder had deen committed, to write it up. The hotel was 
poor, beds poorer, and table poorest. While smoking after 
dinner with the landlord, the reporter remarked that the place 
would be an excellent one in which to die.' 



'' 'All,' beamed mine host, 'how so?' leauiug ti little uearer 
to meet the compliment he felt sure was coming.' 

" 'Well,' replied the reporter, 'a man could leave it with less 
regret than any other.' 

"Then in his blandest manner Tom looked down the tlible 
and said : '8ee?' 

"We saw Mrs. K.'s face if we didn't see anything else. I'll 
bet he doesn't get any extra towels after that. 

"Take care of yourself, little sis, and don't get tired to 
death preparing to become Mrs. Randall. 

•'I send with this, by express, a little 'tilthy lucre,' with 
which to buy a handlierchief or quart of peanuts. Acce[)t it 
with my love and wishes that it were a thousand dollars. 

"Expect nie the week before the wedding. O ! I forgot to 
say that I'm doing a little copying for the boss, and he was 
pleased yesterday to compliment my penmanship and accuracy 
— •Great aches from little toe corns,' etc. 
"As ever, your loving brothei', 

Jim." 

Our Jim devoted himself to business witii a will, and — con- 
trary to story-books — came across n(^ more letters signed 
Mignonette; and instead of l)eing prouK^ted himself, sat by and 
saw the clerk on his left told to "couie up higher." Hut he 
kept on ; paid his bills, laid up a little something, and kept a 
sharp look-out for a change and — Mignonette. At last came 
his two-weeks' vacation, when he [)acked his little all, bade his 
fellow-boardero and the pudding good-bye, and started for 
Maine to attend his sister's wedding. All the way he watched 
for Mignonette, Init found nothing save the tlower for which he 
had suddenly developed a remarkable fondness. Arrived there, 
he found his future brother-in-law a genial whole-souled fellow, 
with a keen business ability. Young- Randall made our Jim a 
fair, manly offer, to go into partnership with him in an orange 



grove in Florida. Tnrniug to liis sister, lie said : 

"Do you think this is the opportunity. P'.lsie?" 

"I certainly do. And, Oh ! Jimmie ! I'll give you something 
to eat that's decent !" 

"That settles it; I'll go, Randall. Thank you for the offer 
now, and when we get there, I'll show you that my thanks 
mean something." 

"I know you will," and the two young men clasped hands. 

The wedding over and good-byes said, the little party set 
their faces toward their new home. Jim had closed his connec- 
tion with the department and was ready for his future and — 
iMignonette. 

"Fll never tind her way out there, Elsie," he said to hissister, 
to whom he had told the whole story. She didn't look dubious 
but said brightly : "O, yes, you will ; 1 feel sure of it." 

When nearly halt-way to their destination they stopped to 
visit a dear friend of Elsie's, and in the evening Jim strolled off 
for a walk, feeling something like the fifth wheel of the coach. 

After about an hour's ramble he turned into another street 
which he judged would take him somewheie near his stopping- 
place. He paused before a little wood-colored cottage under 
some large spreading trees. There was a border of mignonette 
each side of tiie tiny graveled walk, and under the rose bushes, 
beneath the win. lows, it lifted its odonnis panicles wafting its 
perfume abioad until the air was heavy with its fragrance, 
(.'lose beside the little gate were two round beds of it. He 
noted the name of the street, and taking his bearings found his 
way back. 

In conversation that evening, he remarked on some of the 
pretty grounds he had noticed, and mentioned this one, asking 
if they knew who lived there. 

"O, yes. Widow Bohannon and her daughter, Cora. She 
has a little property and Cora writes for the press." 



"Does she ever give lectures?" asked Jim, giving his sister a 
queer look. 

"•Why, no ; or, at least, I never heard that she did. Did 
you ever see such quantities of mignonette as they have? and 
it is quite a romantic story. She, Cora, has one brother, and 
some ten years ago he ran away from home with a wild idea of 
making his fortune and supporting his mother and sister. He 
obtained a good place and fair salary, but wasn't contented with 
it. Cora used to tell me that he was all the time fretting for 
something better. About two years ago her letters began re- 
turning to her and now they have lost all trace of him. He 
used to be very fond of mignonette, and always called Cora Mig- 
nou or Mignonette. So now she raises quantities of it, hoping 
that if he ever seeks the old home repentant, he will feel sure 
of a welcome when he sees his favorite blossom everywhere. 

Ellsie, like the dear little girl she was, came at once to her 
brother's help l)y saying : 

"How I would like to meet her ! Can't we call on her?" 

"Certainly ; to-morrow, if you like." 

So to-mor'-ow it was. They found her busy among her flow- 
ers, with a basket beside her nearly filled with mignonette. 
She led the way to the house, the interior of which our friends 
found quite as attractive as the surroundings outside. Mr. 
Claxtou was charmed with Miss Bohannon, and enjoyed the call 
if no one else did. 

As they were saying good-bye after a very pleasant hour, 
our Jimmy asked if he might be allowed to call in the evening, 
adding, "I have something to tell you which I think will in- 
terest you . ' ' 

Her thoughts flew instantly to the al)sent one, and she gave 
him cordial permission. 

Jim felt, to state it mildly, quite awkw^ard, when he found 
himself once more in Cora's cosy little parlor. She waited for 



him to speak, though there was an eager look in her eyes which 
belied her quiet manner. 

"Until quite recently," he began, "I have been a clerk in the 
dead-letter department, and was anything but contented with 
my position and salary. I got through each day as easily as 
I could, and was glad when it was over. One day, while feel- 
ing more disgusted and despondent than usual, I opened a let- 
ter the penmanship of which held my attention. I glanced it 
over to find some clue, turned back and read it from beginning 
to end, then co))ied it entire. It made a man of me, and per- 
haps you would like to see it." 

She nodded, her cheeks painfully flushed, and held her hand 
for the letter. 

After reading a little, she said, '"Yes; I remember it well. 
It is one I w-rote to Bennie, poor, dear Bennie." They talked 
of him ; of her literary work and kindred subjects ; Jim's new 
home in the south, till the clock struck ten. Rising to go he 
asked if he might write her of his arrival, and if she would rei)ly . 

"Why — yes," she said after a pause, "and if you ever meet 
Bennie, tell him not to delay his return any longer. Tell him 
his mother misses and mourns for him daily." 

"I will," he replied, almost reverently, and said good-bye. 

The letters sped back and forth some months, and one day 
there came to Claxton a joyful one from Cora, announcing Ben- 
nie's return ; and, contrary to the story-books again, not in the 
role of the prodigal, but with a competency and a wife. To 
which Jim made a sympathetic reply ; and asserted that Elsie 
was bound up in her husband, that now she, Cora, was bound 
up in her brother, and what he was to do was an open question. 
Could she, and would she, give him any encouragement to come 
North and see if he could get some mignonette to help him bear 
his loneliness better. 

Her mother would be pleased to see him she replied demurely ; 



also that the mignonette was in full bloom in boxes in the house, 
and she would gladly give him some plants to carry back. ' 

He went. 

When he returned not only the plants, but a lovely bride 
who answered to the same name, accompanied him. 

In the course of two years, Bennie and his family, including 
the dear mother, had gone to live near them in their Florida 
home. The last I knew they were discussing the name of their 
new town. Jim declared it should be Mignonette, and I sus- 
pect he will have his way ; though I think it a queer name for 
a town. 




'$l>en tlie faisics |! 



00 m n qciin. 



?HEN the daisies bloom again 
^Lifting their sonsy face 
5^^ From out the old time places 
Like sunshine gleaming on the snow ; 
I shall not pluck their starry blooms, 
To deck these dear familiar rooms— 
Ah me, I love them so. 

When the daisies bloom again 

The Merrimac will still flow here ; 

Yoa mountains pierce the ether clear. 

But I shall see their turrets not. 

I shall not see the sinking sun 

In golden glow, when day is done, 

Gild all this peaceful spot. 

When the daisies bloom again, 
A stranger hand will loose tlie gate 
Where Bes.sie, Cream and Clover wait 
For me to drive them home to-night. 
And stranger feet will cross the the sill 
Where nightly sings the vvhip-po-will, 
When fades the soft twilight. 

When the daisies bloom again, 

Lifting their smiling faces 

From these familiar places, 

In golden-hearted, snowy masses — 

I shall not see the dew-gemmed stars, 

Which nestle by these time-worn bars, 

Amid tlie whispering grasses. 



^unset. 

?LOW sinks the sun behind tlie purple hills; 

The crickets' chirp the quiet evening Alls ; 

The air is hazy with a languor sweet, — 
The very zephyrs move with noiseless feet ! 
Great waves of crimson roll from out the West 
And break upon the gray, each glitt'ring crest 
The sun's last rays have burnished into gold — 
Day's dying glory : new, and yet so old. 



Slowly the sunset splendor fades away, 

One golden star shines out upon the gray. 

The new moon's silver crescent just below, 

Across which fleecy cloudlets come and go ! 

A perfumed breeze comes dancing from the South 

And whispers to the leaves with dainty mouth. 

Of shaded rills ; of forests cool and green. 

Where mosses grow, with brimming brooks between. 

The distant whip-po-will begins his song — 
"Whose melancholy notes to night belong." 
Nearer, he wings his flight with circling sweep. 
His perch at last — in shadow cool and deep — 
A clump of roses by the garden walk. 
Or by the royal lilies' drooping stalk. 
"Whip-po-will! cluck! whip-po-will! whip-po-will 
He sings, till in your di'eams you hear him still. 



4* t^^t- 



ILEEP, darling, sleep ! 

f The purple harebells swing like censers to and fro : 
'llf The long grass whispers to the roses white as snow. 
Blooming upon the lowly bed, 
That pillows soft thy sunny head ! 
Sleep, darling, sleep ! 



Sleep, darling, sleep ! 
The perfumed south wind sighs among the cypress treeir 
Rocked in the lily-cups drowsily hum the bees ; 

Softly, sweetly, sleepily sing 
The l)onny birds, with quiet wing. 
Sleep, darling, sleep! 

Sleep, darling, sleep ! 
The shadows lengthen, and the hylas sings his song; 
The hidden cricket chirps, and beats her tiny gong; 

The dreamy, drowsy, zephyrs pass 
Gently over the fragrant grass. 

Sleep, darling, sleep ! 



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